On the Brink
by solariswrites
Summary: There is much to hate about Peter Hayes. The glint of joy in his emerald eyes when he hurts someone, the way his angelic lips turn into a vicious smile when he makes another victim out of an enemy, the bruises that line his skin when he's said too much to a villain he just can't win against. These are the things that make me want to drop his name from my lips, turn around, and ne
1. Prologue

There is much to hate about Peter Hayes.

The glint of joy in his emerald eyes when he hurts someone, the way his angelic lips turn into a vicious smile when he makes another victim out of an enemy, the bruises that line his skin when he's said too much to a villain he just can't win against. These are the things that make me want to drop his name from my lips, turn around, and never speak to him again.

But there is also much to love about Peter Hayes. These things are just a little less obvious.

I love his honesty and the way he means what he says. There's no bullshit with Peter. I love when he smiles, when he really smiles, and his momentary lapses of strength into weakness. I love his brutality, his passion, and his utter Dauntlessness.

Peter Hayes is a labyrinth of many , bloody secrets.

There is much of Peter Hayes to be afraid of.


	2. Chapter 1

_Karis_

"This is a waste of time." Peter huffed. I couldn't even tell if he was talking to me.

My lips straighten into a solemn line, waiting for him to go on (God knows he will) about how much he hates this. There's not a lot to do up here on the wall but somebody has to do it. I don't like it either but there really isn't a choice in the matter. There aren't a whole lot of choices when you're in Dauntless.

We both stand on the wall with our guns in their holsters. Nothing exciting enough happens up here to have our guns drawn and at attention. Patrolling the wall that separates the city from the rest of the world is boring business, but it's one of the only options for people who weren't in the top of their initiation class. Peter doesn't belong here. But here we are by the work of some divine intervention, partnered alone together for the next few agonizing hours of patrol in a place where nothing happens. Ever.

The solid green of the vast Amity farms is only broken up by a few red trucks that look like spots in the distance. Dauntless trucks are idle at the bottom of the wall to take us back once our shift is over. Patrolling the wall is the most mundane way to spend your time as a part of Dauntless and it was no surprise that I was stuck here. I passed initiation but I played the middle for the most part. Nothing special. However, it was surprising that Peter was here. I figured he would have been in some sort of leadership position since he finished second.

"Why are you here anyway?" I interrupt his complaints. "Shouldn't you be at Dauntless headquarters, being hazed by the Eric and the other leaders?"

Peter stops to look at me, his lips parted slightly. Thinking of what to say.

"I think this is part of the hazing." Peter sighs, bored out of his mind.

"Time to get what was coming to you, huh?" I ask, smiling as sweetly as possible, hoping he doesn't pick up the sass under the sugar of my words. He does.

"Watch it. I'm still a Dauntless leader now."

"A Dauntless leader _in training_. You have to be more specific." I dare to taunt him a little bit to make conversation and lighten the mood. I don't really know what I was thinking. This is _Peter Hayes_ here and he doesn't take kindly to friendly conversation or the lightening of the mood. "It still doesn't explain why you're doing the bottom of the barrel work out here."

"Guess they needed me to make sure you don't get yourself killed out here." The bitterness is apparent in his tone.

"How would I even get myself killed? Nothing happens out here anyway."

Peter takes his big hand and shoves my shoulder. I stumble and reach out for him, my smaller hands clinging to his forearm to steady myself. I never really noticed how muscular he was until I felt his arms underneath the pads of my fingertips. I was usually too busy trying to shield myself from his harsh sarcasm.

"Well, you could fall off the wall." Peter suggested.

"I wouldn't fall if you wouldn't pitch me off of it." I spit back.

"I know I'm irresistible, but you can take your hands off of me now." Peter scoffs and flicks his eyes down to my hands which were still wrapped around his taut muscles.

I hadn't even noticed I was still gripping him. Ruby blush enflamed the apples of my cheeks as I hastily pull myself away from him and brush myself off. I'm too quick with my movements and lose my balance just trying to get away from him. I fall to my knees in another attempt to not fall to my death on the other side of the wall. Peter laughs, a low grunt in the back of his throat and I know there are a million insults churning in his mind. But I'm sure that's the case 99% of the time.

"And they willingly gave you an actual gun?" He scoffs. "Pathetic."

I look up at him towering over me and blow the strands of hair out of my face. My cheeks are still red but it's more out of anger now than embarrassment. A smirk takes hold of Peter's face and he takes a few steps, closing the gap between us. The tip of his boot rests on top of my fingers with barely any pressure but a dangerous threat looming there. My eyebrows raise at him, questioning whether or not he would actually do something right now.

Of course he would. It's Peter.

"Can we please just go back to patrolling and not talking to each other?" I practically beg.

He looks at me and chews the inside of his cheek dramatically, as if he's actually considering it. But he's not. "What's your name again, sweetheart?"

I grit my teeth. "Karis."

"Well, Karis, I'm gonna get us the hell out of here."

Peter's boot stomps the fingers of my left hand, grinding them into the gravel of the wall. I feel the bones twisting and screaming as loud as I am until one by one, they finally snap. I crumple into the ground, tears streaming down my face and I clutch my wrist as soon as Peter's boot lifts, releasing the pressure from my broken fingers.

"Are you fucking crazy, Hayes?" I yell through the agony.

"Suck it up, sweetheart. There's still time to become factionless, you know." Peter tells me as he picks me up. I feel his strong arms again and they are all I can focus on as he carries me, still screaming, toward the other guard stationed beside one of the Dauntless truck. The blaring pain shoots its way up my arms into my teeth and pouring out of my eyeballs. Peter doesn't flinch.

"She needs to get back to headquarters." Peter says to a guard standing next to the vehicles they use to transport us here.

"What happened?" The guard exclaimed, his eyes widening in shock as he assessed my current state. "Is she shot?"

"No bullets. Details are fuzzy. We should get back." Peter responds, his condescending tone throwing the guard off. He really does carry himself with the arrogance of the other Dauntless leaders. He must have learned it from Eric.

"Sure, sure. We can take her from here and bring her back. You can go back to your station." The guard tells Peter as he reaches for my crumbling body.

Peter shifts me away from the guard as if he's a shield between the man and me. As if he weren't the thing I needed protection from. If I could form a coherent thought, I would have screamed at the guard to get me the hell away from Peter. My tongue is tied. "I better stay with her. I'm the only one he trusts." he lies skillfully while beelining for the vehicle.

If only I could roll my eyes.

"Can we please just hurry the fuck up and get me some morphine please?" I groan, my tone fierce and aggressive.

The guard jumps into the front seat and floors it until we're hitting every bump and curve on the road. I can hear the speed of the truck in my ears and between the walls of my skull, adding to the mixture of pain and confusion. Peter is still holding me like a possession, like some _thing_ that belongs to him.

"You know, Karis. I really am sorry." he lies. But it's easy to tell.

"No. You're. Not." I clench my teeth to keep from screaming out again. I can't tell if the pain in my hand is quieting down or speeding up. "You're a psychopath, Peter Hayes."

"Maybe you're right. But at least this brings a little excitement. You have to at least thank me for that." Peter says. "Anyway, the thing I am sorry about is for the thing I'm about to do."

"What are you about to do?"

He doesn't answer. Instead, his forehead connects with mine and red explodes behind my eyes and my brain cracks into two. I black out before he straightens up again.

In the haze of my blackout, I swear I can hear him whisper something that sounds a lot like, "Well, I can't honestly say I'm sorry for that either."

{***}

It must have been a few hours until I woke up to the whitewashed walls of the infirmary. There was a dull thud in the front of my head and the blood was rushing around under my eyelids. The fluorescent lights made me feel sick as I opened my eyes and my head swam like little fish. My stomach heaved with the weight of the nausea but I fought to keep the french toast I had for breakfast in my stomach where it belonged. It was all I could do not to throw up all over the person who was sitting on the chair next to the bed.

Wait… Person?

I turn my head ever so slowly to my right and there is Peter Hayes lounging in a chair with his legs resting on top of my right thigh. He's sound asleep. The sleep takes away the tense meanness that he dons during his waking hours. His features hold an angelic kind of quality that makes me wonder if he was always a bully. The scars at the corner of his mouth and under his chin stand prominent and they look redder than they normally do. I wonder how he got them.

I'm examining him so intensely, I don't notice that he's woken up. His leg jolts against my thigh and I bite my lip to keep from gasping in pain at the weight of his heavy boots on top of me. It doesn't register that he's awake until my eyes flit back up to his and they are open wide with a look that I can only describe as arrogant amusement.

"So the Sleeping Beauty has awoken." He comments and takes his legs off of me. "How was your little nap?"

"It's only a nap if it doesn't involve me getting forcibly knocked out while screaming in agony." I point out. "You're the only one napping here."

"Fair point." Peter holds his hands up in surrender. "But aren't you glad I rescued you from patrolling the wall?"  
I hold up my left hand which is splinted and wrapped in tight bandages. Whatever they gave me for the pain must be doing its job because I can't feel anything. "I'm debating whether or not it was worth the four broken fingers."

"And the verdict is?"

"I think I'd rather be here than be out there, I guess." I tell him, honestly. The Candor would be proud. "You're still an asshole for doing it though."

"Again, fair point." Peter laughs and it sounds more genuine than anything I've ever heard from him before. "How are the fingers?"

It has to be whatever they have me on, but I don't hear him. I go back to examining him: his eyes, his nose, his hair, his teeth, his scars. For some reason, I'm hung up on his scars. Maybe because I have no scars of my own and I wish I was brave enough to have them, maybe because I envy him for having them, maybe because I'm curious about what secrets he's hiding under those scars. Whatever the reason, I can't focus on anything he's saying and I drift away from Peter and from the room.

I come back to his fingers snapping in my face. "Hello? Earth to Karis?" he sounds annoyed. "No wonder an airhead like you left Erudite. Maybe you should have gone to Amity instead of Dauntless, with all the other empty headed hippies."

"Where did you get your scars?" I blurt out.

"What?" he asks, squinting his eyes.

"Your scars. What happened?"

"I just broke your fucking hand and you're asking me about my scars? You should have kicked me out as soon as you woke up!" he exclaims, leaning forward until we're practically nose to nose.

"Do you want me to kick you out?" I ask, my voice even and unnerved. For the first time today, I feel like I'm in control of the situation. Not Peter.

"You don't have to." Peter stands up, turns on his heel, and stalks out of the room in a way that looks eerily similar to sulking. I guess the interaction didn't go as planned for him.

"Peter!" I yell out the door even after he's already stalked his way through it.

"What do you want?" he pokes his head back inside the door. "Can you bring me back some cake?"

"What makes you think I'm coming back here?" his hostility makes me flinch, but it doesn't scare me.

"You owe me." I say, holding up my crumbling hand once again. "Without me, you'd still be up on that wall for who knows how long, counting the Amity trucks because there's nothing else to do and you'd probably be paired up with someone who wouldn't even-"

He cuts me off. "Dauntless cake coming right up. Just please, I'm begging you, shut up."

I zip my lips close and smile too wide as he leaves the room and I'm half surprised when he actually comes back with two pieces of Dauntless cake.


End file.
